


Whispered Conversations

by kelseyfitzherbert



Category: Tangled (2010), Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11764791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelseyfitzherbert/pseuds/kelseyfitzherbert
Summary: eugene's happy thoughts after he and rapunzel consummate their marriage. my entry for airplanned's fanfiction exchange years ago. mention of sexy times.





	Whispered Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally posted on fanfiction.net. this was my entry from the prompt i got years ago when airplanned did a tangled fandom fic exchange on tumblr.

Whispered Conversations

Rated M for paranoia

In Eugene's life, there have only been three occurrences that he can vividly remember. The first was the time he punched a nun at the orphanage in the face because she took his Flynnagin Rider book. He was only nine at the time, and that was the year he learned to thieve and lie, so his behavior had gone downhill from his youthful days of being an eight year old. The second was the day, err, night he had gotten shot in the arm with an arrow. To make a long story short, one of the girls he had picked up hanging around the church wanted a study in something a bit less..well, holy and boring. Turns out her father decided he didn't like the fact they were engaging in unbiblical activities in his barn, so he pulled out his bow as Flynn pulled up his pants and they both ran as fast as they could. That's when Flynn found out that an arrow was faster than he was, and it took that scar months to heal up.

The third was a bit more sentimental and not so violent, if he may say. It was the day that he found the ring his mother had left to him. He didn't know why, or how, or any of that, though. He just remembers the day after he turned seven, the "Bitch-Who-Couldn't-Get-Hitched" (Or, the head lady at the orphanage. That was a nickname he had picked up from the older kids.) had called him into her office. After giving him his daily scolding, as he always seemed to get one, she handed him a little pouch with a blue ribbon tying it together. He opened the bag and saw the small ring, a shiny silver with a green diamond in the middle. There was a note with the ring, too, but he didn't bother reading it. He wanted to go show the ring to all the other kids; to brag. It was always about who was the cooler kid in there; it always determined who was beaten up and who wasn't. He thought this could at least buy him two days before people stopped giving a rat's ass about 'the boy with the ring from his dead mother'.

No, he never really understood why these three occurrences had stuck out to him. He had had many encounters in life that should've over-shadowed these of less importance, but they didn't. They were pushed away; tucked in a corner for the days he was thinking extra hard. Or didn't want to think at all.

"Watcha thinking about?"

Fingers brushed his cheek, warm skin on warm skin, and the trembling her fingertips contained brought him back to the now, to her; to a memory he would keep forever. He knew it would happen. Knew it. It would stay tucked in besides the other three; warm, cozy, and meaningful.

"You." The word dropped from his lips as he looked down. Her appearance set off the feelings that he didn't know he could feel until he met her. Even now, after they had been together nearly a year and a half, he was still discovering new and exciting things about her. Her cheeks were red and her lips swollen, her hair was disarrayed, as he imagined his was, and her green eyes shone in the moonlight with bountiful curiosity. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

"Me?"

"You."

"Mmm." Her lips hummed against his bare chest as her fingertips traced his abs, and he closed his eyes to memorize the way she moved.

He was surprised she wasn't talking more. She was always the one to discuss and depict new and exciting things and encountars. If they had been witnessing the way a mother handled her child or the way dogs chased their tails, she'd be clutching his arm and looking up at him with those green eyes, asking more questions than he could answer and at a speed faster than he could keep up with.

"What are you thinking about?" He whispered, his fingers running down her spine with a slow, meaningful purpose. Her breath traveled down his stomach, leaving a warm trail behind.

"You."

"Me?"

"You."

He chuckled, his fingers bunching up against her skin. He quickly remembered the way her corset would bunch in his fingers, when she had it on, of course. "What about me, if I may ask?"

"Your face."

"My face?"

"Mhm," she was quiet again; retreating back to her thoughts. He almost felt as if he was intruding on her; as if it were an entirely private moment to herself.

"Are they good thoughts about my face?" He raised his brow at her, yet she didn't look towards him.

"Of course."

"Oh?" She was being awfully quiet, and he was intrigued. He wished nothing more than to be able to read that brain of hers. Not just on this occasion, either. Being the artistic and curious person she was, he knew being in her head would be a colorful journey full of things she'd never tell him. Of which, included him, apparently.

"Yeah," she said, her voice just over a whisper. Her fingers moved about his chest, as if she was painting an invisible mural on his skin. "I was thinking of the way you look at me."

He smiled, knowing full-well that he looked like a love-drunk idiot when he laid his eyes on her. "How so?"

"When you see me after a long day of classes or when you wake up from a bad dream," she moved her head up, her eyes meeting his. Her lips were pulled up at the corners and her features relaxed. "You always have this look of relief. It's like I can see this huge weight lift from your shoulders."

"You make me relax."

"Why?"

Always curious. "Because I love you."

Her small eyebrows furrowed. "Just that?"

"Not exactly," he mused, taking a strand of her hair; now a mess from the way she had tossed her head and the way he knotted his fingers in it before this whole conversation took place. "I do love you. More than anything in the world. That's why we had that big ol' ceremony today. You remember? The one where you wore that big dress and walked down that excruciating long aisle to me in front of hundreds of people we didn't even know?"

"How could I forget it?" she breathed. His heart skipped.

"Exactly. I did it all because I love you. And-"

"That's why we made love."

His heart skipped again, loving the way she quietly spoke the words he'd never heard fall from her lips. They dripped of curiosity and innocence, determination and a sense of newfound confidence. His fingers rubbed circles in her back as he stared at her.

"Yeah."

He could see that she wanted to talk about it, and he wanted her to. They were married now. He didn't want her to hold anything back from him anymore. She had already given herself to him in every possible form, and he wanted her to trust him.

"It was much different than I thought it would be," she whispered, her gaze not leaving his.

"Same for me." It was the truth. To Flynn Rider, sex was sex. He never saw any different between that and 'making love'. The same thing was happening in both, so what was different? The way you moved? The way you spoke? He wouldn't know; he had never done it. So there was still a part of him that thought when he and Rapunzel gave each other themselves, it would be the same. And he was stupid for thinking that, because it was completely and utterly wrong. She was his everything, his other half, and he had never felt so whole than he did when she pulled his name from her soul below him. It was completely different in every single way. He was gentle with her, his fingers just heavy enough to set her on fire, and he gave her all of him. He didn't hold his feelings back. He didn't have to worry about holding out for anybody or living up to some ridiculous expectations. She wanted him; raw, real, and uncovered. And that's what he gave her.

"I didn't think I'd feel so much...so much..."

"Love?"

She looked at him, a smile breaking out on his lips. "Yeah. Love."

"What did you think it would be?" Probably the same as he did.

"Well," she blushed. He loved when she blushed. Especially when he was able to make her do it. "Pleasure?"

He chuckled. "I'd hope there still was-"

"Oh, don't worry. There was."

He laughed out loud, and as did she, and he grinned at her. She took her lip into her mouth, between her teeth, and gazed up at him with a look in her eyes that made him shudder in all the right ways. He reached out to brush her hair out of her eyes with the lightest touch.

"I love you," she breathed, barely a whisper. Her fingers trailed up his chest and around his neck as she pulled herself onto him. He could feel the cool metal of her ring, his Mother's ring, on her finger as it rested on his skin. Her lips were above his, nearly a centimeter away, and he pressed up to kiss her with more love than he knew how to contain.

"Love you, too, Blondie."

Yes, there were only three things he could vividly remember before this occurrence. And maybe those would've been the only three he would always remember if he hadn't have met her. Now, as they fell back into each other, he decided it was time to let go of the past. It was time to make room for memories like this; things with actual meaning. Not some petty injury or stupid quarrel that was there for entertainment. Things that he could look back on and smile at; things he could actually blush on or get flustered over. Those were things that he wanted to remember. He was now hers and so was the space in his mind. For, without her, he wouldn't be anything more than a lonely thief. He'd be nothing, because she was his everything.


End file.
